


Thicker Than Water

by kinetic_keith



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Intimacy, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetic_keith/pseuds/kinetic_keith
Summary: “There are others out here who love you like you should be loved,” he says, tucking his lip between his teeth as he extends Meis’s pinky. “People who don’t give a shit what you’ve done.”“You tryin’ to say something?”
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	Thicker Than Water

Gueira feels the tension before he hears the voices. The door swings open and he’s hit with the heavy weight of anguish, of words unspoken and feelings pushed aside. He doesn’t bother toeing off his shoes or hanging his coat up before he pokes his head into the kitchen, and oh--

_ Oh. _

Meis holds his cell phone in both trembling hands, eyes shut as the woman on the other end tells him not to come sniffing around again. “Ma, I--”

“ _ We don’t need someone of your...influence,”  _ his mother says, icy as the winter wind that whips through the streets, “ _ around our daughter.” _

_ “ _ You realize I’m not Burnish an--”

“ _ Goodbye, Meis.”  _ There’s a click, a thud as Meis’s phone hits the table, and the screech of the chair against the floor as he gets up to silently stalk past Gueira and out of the apartment. When his shoulder brushes against Gueira’s there’s a thousand things Gueira wants to say,  _ could  _ say, but what he settles on is much simpler than any of them.

“Take a jacket,” he says quietly, and even those words seem too loud. “It’s freezing outside.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

Meis looks at him down the bridge of his nose, gearing up to argue, before shockingly-- _ scarily-- _ slumping forward. He splays one hand against the wall, the other pulling down his coat from the rack they’d finally installed after a year of simply throwing their coats over the edge of the couch. The sound of the zipper shatters the silence, its metallic whine nearly painful before the decisive  _ click  _ of the door shutting puts it to rest.

It hurts, seeing Meis in pain. The feeling wraps around Gueira’s heart and squeezes until he has to sit down, sliding his back down the wall until his ass hits the melted snow on the floor and the world doesn’t spin as badly anymore. It’s somehow worse and better now that the Promare are--have been--gone. Their people no longer starve in the desert, but there’s a different hunger that gnaws at the ex-Burnish now.

Their hearts cry out for all they’ve lost, everything they left behind upon realizing that the flames called to them. They ache for fathers and brothers, mothers, sisters, children abandoned for their own safety, and though Gueira knew it was only a matter of time before Meis found his own family, his chest aches because it means he hasn’t been family enough.

His head thuds back against the wall.

The clock in the living room ticks in time with his pulse.

The wind outside whistles, and he lets out a sigh to add to the heaviness in the air before shrugging off his jacket and kicking his boots into the closet. He shuts his eyes and swears it’s only a few seconds he’s drifting, but the door and Meis’s heavy footsteps startle him from wherever he’s gone to.

“What’re you doing down there?”

Gueira shrugs, snorts softly. “Existing.”

There’s several beats of silence where Meis seems to wrestle with something, his jaw working before finally, he simply makes a small grunt of acknowledgement and takes off his shoes. When he moves forward, Gueira reaches up to tangle their fingers. 

“Sit with me,” he says.

“There’s salt ‘n shit on the floor. You get up and sit on the couch,” Meis says, but he doesn’t pull away. He looks down at Gueira with something unintelligible in his eyes instead, and allows Gueira to pull his hand forward.

“Can I fix these?” he asks, because Meis doesn’t like his bad habits pointed out, and it’s easier to fix the chipped paint on his nails than ask why the skin around them is bitten to the point of bleeding. 

“Yeah,” Meis says, because he knows Gueira won’t stop until he gets his way.

Gueira doesn’t mention the phone call as Meis hauls him to his feet, or as they set to heating up the leftover pizza from last night. He doesn’t mention it when they move to the couch and light the array of candles on the coffee table, the overhead light off because that’s still  _ comfortable  _ for them. He’s silent as he retrieves the comforter from his bed and hands it to Meis to wrap himself in, though he wants to tell him how sorry he is.

He wants to say so much, but the weight of  _ don’t you know  _ I  _ love you  _ looks like it would crush Meis today.

In the end, it’s Meis who brings it up. He’s moved down to sit on the floor for better access, and the way the candles light up the grief in his eyes makes Gueira want to smooth every bit of it away.

“How much did you hear?” he asks softly.

Gueira switches fingers, paints the nail black as he says, “Enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Meis says, and then, “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

“Guess it’s your lucky day.”

“Right.” Meis huffs, not quite a laugh, and lets his forehead fall to rest on his shoulder. He shivers at Gueira’s fingers sliding against his palm, down his wrist as Gueira gently positions his hand over the blanket.

“Give me the other one.”

Meis obeys without hesitation. “I didn’t even want to see my mom,” he says, and Gueira’s sure he’ll deny his voice cracks on the word. “But I figured Lena’s sixteen now, and maybe I could--we could...” He shakes his head. “It was stupid. Stupid thought, stupid--”

“It’s not your fault your mom’s a raging cunt,” Gueira says, a bit harsher than he intends. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, continues. “You miss your sister. I think it’s only natural you’d want to see her again.”

“Someone of  _ my influence,”  _ Meis says poisonously.

Gueira sets the brush back in the bottle and reaches to cup Meis’s face in his palm, feels his heart soar when Meis pushes into it with a soft whine. “That bitch would be  _ lucky  _ if she got to know who you are. Your  _ influence--”  _ He tips Meis’s chin up with his thumb and twitches his lips up. “Kept the settlement alive. Your influence...” Leaning forward, he rests his temple against Meis’s. “I wouldn’t  _ be  _ here if it wasn’t for your influence. Does that count for something?”

“Yeah,” Meis whispers.

Gueira strokes his thumb across the curve of Meis’s cheek before gently, tenderly, pressing his lips to the spot his forehead just was. Meis’s breath hitches at the contact and it’s more forward than Gueira’s ever been, but Meis doesn’t say  _ no. _

His index, middle, and ring fingers fall prey to the darkness before either speaks, and it’s Gueira again. 

“There are others out here who love you like you should be loved,” he says, tucking his lip between his teeth as he extends Meis’s pinky. “People who don’t give a shit what you’ve done.”

“You tryin’ to say something?”

Gueira shrugs.

“Look at me,” Meis says, and when Gueira does, there are entire galaxies shimmering in his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathes, because he’s not an idiot, and Gueira’s anything but subtle tonight. He drops his gaze to his lap, where his hands clench and unclench rhythmically.

“You’re going to ruin the paint right away,” Gueira complains.

“You can fix it for me again.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Because you’ll always be there, right?” 

Gueira sets his jaw and nods once, eyes fixed on Meis’s tattoo where the blanket’s slipping off. They’d made a night of it, years ago when they’d first met. Drunk on invincibility and starlight, that promise has been with them ever since. 

“Always,” he says.

“We should get ‘em redone sometime,” Meis says. “Professionally.”

“What, my stick and poke skills weren’t good enough?” Gueira teases.

Meis manages a laugh this time, a soft, rumbling chuckle as he leans in to settle his face in the crook of Gueira’s neck. “Your skills are fine,” he murmurs, “but I don’t want them to fade too bad.”

Gueira sits stock still, stunned into inactivity at the brush of Meis’s lashes against his throat. They haven’t quite done  _ this  _ yet. There’s been plenty of  _ moments,  _ yes--lingering glances across the desert sand, sleeping propped up against each other in abandoned buildings, quiet banter over making dinner together in this new life--but never  _ this.  _

Even so, nuzzling into Meis’s cheek to bare his lips is as easy as breathing. 

Meis’s lips are pliant under his, chapped and eager and  _ willing  _ as Meis climbs into his lap. His arms wrap around Gueira’s shoulders like a vice as he whispers his name, and Gueira can do nothing but follow as Meis leads him down avenues he’s been too much of a coward to explore. 

“Fuck,” Gueira whispers when they part. He goes back for one lingering kiss, catching Meis’s bottom lip between his teeth and teasing it until Meis makes a noise low in the back of his throat. “ _ Fuck,  _ I love you.”

“I know,” Meis says, and then he says, “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you,” and Gueira can’t help the way he hugs so tight that Meis lets out a small squeak of discomfort.

“Sorry,” Gueira mumbles. 

“‘s all right, darlin’,” Meis whispers against the underside of Gueira’s jaw. “Just try not to kill me too early, you know?”

“I wouldn’t kill you ever,” Gueira says, only a little petulantly. 

“I trust you.”

Gueira splays his hands over Meis’s spine, feels along the knobs that are no longer as prominent as he buries his face into the curve of Meis’s shoulder. “You deserve people who adore you for all that you are,” he says, “and if we can find a way to get to Lena, I’m sure she’ll think just as highly of you as I do.”

“You think so?” Meis asks, and Gueira hates the way that of all the things they’ve conquered,  _ this  _ makes his voice quiver with uncertainty.

“I  _ know  _ so,” he says. “Trust me with that, too?”

“Yeah,” Meis says. “Yeah, I think I do.”


End file.
